It is light that dies, it is night that cries,
This enacts a play from a playwright
Who dances on the stage where darkness
Fades into light, as lightning has faith,
As the sky has rights over you, in the end
Of times so happier than life that exists.
What happens when light attacks the body,
And enters the heart from the veins so thick
Of viscous fluid? Blood dines on the swearing
Of words, of the night as it hastens towards
A just line of making and joking from the evenings,
The evenings are a gesture from the mind.
It is a reckoning of the mind, an illness of might
So strong on its motion towards the height of energy.
My ill world is a healthy session, a mighty word,
Feeling the halves of the season, into the void,
And out of the darkness, straight into light, in the ways
Of mankind that suffers, with wild head and heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem